


crystal visions

by thespideyboy



Series: Spideypool One-offs [5]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, I hope it's sweet, M/M, Observations, Peter and wade at peace, Spring Vibes, a sweet snapshot of these two at peace, at least, doesn't really have a set date or anything like that, easy reading, happy little thing, just being happy, no mentions of other characters, this one is pretty self-contained, who knows anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-25 23:35:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespideyboy/pseuds/thespideyboy
Summary: Wade nods, his jaw grazing Peter’s scalp. He doesn’t move to pull him closer, afraid of drawing unwanted attention towards their existence, but risks a quick kiss anyways, uneven lips to Peter’s smooth forehead. Peter shudders against him.





	crystal visions

Bare skin, both rough and not, shivers beneath the heat of the sun. Spring has only just arrived, but the warmth of the summer is already apparent, lacing in through the April days without much reserve. 

They’re in a park, the two of them, bodies pressed together, fingers tangled with dewy grass. Few patrons pass by, too busy with their own lives to mind the lax figures, ostensibly  leaving them in their own private bubble. This attention deficit is peaceful, albeit unusual for the men, and it’s something they understand is not lasting, something they revel in upon any given chance. 

They’re not considered heros, not by most of the surrounding city’s towering standards, but their jobs rarely allow them this brand of quiet. 

The larger of the two pulls a baseball cap further across his scarred face and closes his eyes, lets his muscles relax in beneath the gentle heat. “How much time do we got, Pete?” He questions. His voice is unobtrusive, tickles the edges of the atmosphere’s silence without cutting through its tranquil body. 

Peter, the smaller, shifts in response, turns his face to press his forehead into the other’s shoulder. “As much as you want, Wade.” 

It’s a simple sentence, spoken just as quietly as the previous. Both are careful within this element, fearful of breaking the mirror-coat of peace that seems to orbit around their unified existence, paints them as one being with two hearts beating in synchrony. 

Wade nods, his jaw grazing Peter’s scalp. He doesn’t move to pull him closer, afraid of drawing unwanted attention towards their bubble, but risks a quick kiss anyways, uneven lips to Peter’s smooth forehead. Peter shudders against him, eyes fluttering shut. 

They don’t spend moments like this out in public, basking in the light of day. This intimacy is saved for their dark bedroom, for the hour or two after patrol when they sit in seclusion above the city, watch as the occasional midnight car speeds down vacant streets with fingers intertwined. 

To the public, they are two separate individuals, with and without the masks. Friends, co-workers, strangers. It’s upsetting, sometimes, when all Peter wants to do is present the world his love, put the older man on a pedestal and hang on for dear life, show everyone, but his second life makes this complicated, makes the longing for transparency impossible- just another fantasy he thinks  about before he falls unconscious, when Wade’s breathing has evened in his ear and he’s left with a moment of silence to himself. 

The world knows Wade Wilson, knows his face and his scars and his track record, the suit he wears when he’s working and the face he hides when he is not. Spider-man remains a secret, his face beneath the mask a concept, nothing more to the public than a collection of common features, a product of civilian imagination. He’s considered it, revealing his identity, but the costs are too great, the risk towards those associated with Peter Parker too daunting. 

Wade doesn’t push him, doesn’t try to force his hand towards a future he doesn’t want, and so they stay like this, living life together behind closed doors, iron walls. It takes a toll on both of them, the hiding, but it’s worth it, always will be. 

Peter is closed, without Wade, shuts himself away behind the mask, forgets that he’s almost as human as those he rescues. Wade destructs, on his own, when he’s got nothing to live for and no goals to achieve, he lets his brain fall apart, lets his body sustain as much and damage as it so chooses. They balance, together, two contrary weights that set the scale straight, even despite their opposing traits and worldly different internal mechanisms. 

This right here, Peter thinks as he allows his body to curl further into Wade’s, is balance, is the stability he’s always needed and never allowed himself to have.  Wade responds involuntarily, coils his hand around Peter’s bicep, the gesture protective, loving. 

Here they anchor each other, drifting amongst emerald blades of grass, beaming together beneath the bright sunlight. 

Without commotion, without the rush of the city at their throats, they only exist for each other, breath the air the other exhales, speak the thoughts they only dare to think together.

They were lucky today, having both decided they needed a break from the seemingly bottomless pit of crime that festered within the city streets. There was little thought that went into leaving the house like this, into risking being seen together,  _ Peter Parker and Wade Wilson,  _ but beneath the midday’s lazy fog, neither entertains a single regret.  

“This world has nothin’ on us, baby boy.” Wade states, draws circles into Peter’s shoulder blade with his thumb. Peter shivers, lets himself smile. He can see Wade’s face, clear as ever even under the cap’s shade, basks in the image, burns it into his brain. 

It’s rare, that Wade leaves the house without the suit or full-body attire and keeps so at peace, but Peter would give up everything he owns and everything he is to see Wade like this just a little more often. 

“You ‘n me? Kick ass all the way ta’ London, don’t even have’ta worry ‘bout anything. Got ourselves all set, Macbeth and- uh, Lady Macbeth..” He breaks, Peter rising and falling with his chest as he sighs, “Not the fancy London, though. No, the Canada-London, superior one if ‘ya ask me. Got a whole university and everythin’, and beavers, those too.” 

He’s talking nonsense, Peter thinks. There’s a soft kiss of wind that waltzes through the grass, mingles with the hair on Peter’s arms, and he finds that he can’t recall the last time he felt the wind against his bare skin. “You’re right.” He confirms. It’s loud enough only for Wade to hear, sidles beneath the gust and dissipates into the air. 

A plane crosses overhead, leaves a thin trail of white that cuts against the stark blue expanse of the afternoon sky.  It’s an interruption, a reminder to the both of them that the rest of the world still exists, is still functioning and moving and continuing without them, but they remain happy here, static together. 

So rarely do they keep so still, do they allow their bodies rest, their brains asylum; so rarely do they embrace togetherness like this, woven into the very fibres of the earth as though waiting to be reclaimed. 

Wade is silent, an occurrence so infrequent that it would worry Peter on most days, but his fingers hold solid against his arm, his breath consistent against his forehead, and he knows there’s nothing to be concerned about. Wade is silent,  because, for once, his brain doesn’t bulge with intrusive thoughts or harmful intentions- he can only think about Peter, about the lovely man tucked against him, who provides him love and protection and care that he doesn’t deserve, who gives him a reason to be everything he thought he was never supposed to be. 

Peter, here and now, is free from the crushing guilt that trails his every move, that checks him against brick walls and demands he submit, demands he makes no mistakes, stands as perfect and  _ good  _ as he impossibly can. Here and now, with the city a distant whisper and the outer world nothing but an afterthought, the guilt cannot follow, loses its perpetual grip on his windpipe and allows his lungs to breathe, just this once. 

They feel each other, feel the unfamiliar ease that lays thick in their veins. There is nothing greater than this, right now.

This is peace, for Wade and for Peter. It is short lived, a scarce commodity in their respectively chaotic lives, but in this moment they exist together, they exist in harmony. 

In this moment, they are meant to be, two damaged halves of a beautiful whole, and there is little on or off of earth that can take this from them.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> heyo!!
> 
> this one's just a short little piece, kind of a personal study on how these two work together, just fluff and stuff, don't really know how to describe it but hey! hoped you found some form of joy in this, and I'll catch you next time!
> 
> be sure to come say hi on Tumblr! [@thespideyboy](https://thespideyboy.tumblr.com)! I'd love to hear some feedback and maybe make some pals!


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